


Reunion

by whatsallthisabout



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Hesitancy, Kissing, M/M, Necks, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsallthisabout/pseuds/whatsallthisabout
Summary: He's back. And badder than ever.





	1. Collision

Backing away, he hit the control panel of the TARDIS, but the Doctor could hardly feel the controls digging into his back, for all his focus was on the blonde in front of him. The Master. After so long, after chasing and fighting, after holding him dying in his arms, he was here. Alive. And looking so beautiful. 

No, he can’t, he couldn’t…

He was both afraid and eager, torn between running away and leaning in. No time for running now though, he was within arms reach. He could see the hunger in his eyes as he stalked towards him (he thought it was shielding something though), a wicked grin spreading across his face. The Doctor gripped the edge of the console.

“W-what are you doing?” the Doctor stuttered out, the other Time Lord’s eyes right in front of his now. Eye to eye, toe to toe, chest to chest. How fitting.

“What do you want me to do?” the Master’s voice sounded like silk, his words gliding out through his lips and settling against the Doctor’s. Waiting. The Doctor swallowed, and didn’t say a word. The grin twisted into a smirk, and the Master moved his hand slowly up to the Doctor’s, wrapping his long fingers around his wrist. He raised it up to his lips and softly kissed the back, then the palm, keeping a firm grip. The Doctor shuddered and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t know what to think or what to do, and it felt abnormal. Uncomfortable to be unknowing. 

Taking advantage of his lack of vision, the Master stepped forward without a sound and deftly pulled the Doctor against him, causing him to gasp, trembling to keep his eyes shut. Resisting. The Master leaned in and brushed his lips against the shell of the other’s ear, and let his teeth graze the skin.

“What about this, Doctor? How are you,” he gently kissed the spot, “holding up?” He really wasn’t holding up at all in honesty; he was a mess of quivering lips and dashing thoughts. 

The Doctor knew this was what the Master wanted; to have him encased in his grasp, to have the control. So he hated himself when he let out a shocked breath as the Master pulled him in closer still, wrapped his arm all the way around his waist and pushing him against the console. His wrist was still in his other hand.

I mustn’t give in, he thought, I can’t let him do this. He’s the enemy, he’s my enem- The thought was cut off as the Master laid his lips against his. Hard. At this, the Doctor’s eyes flew open, any resistance or fear fleeing his mind. As though the Master felt this, he began to move his lips against the Doctor’s, and guided his hand up to his own hair, inviting him in. Taking this, the taller man closed his eyes once more and gave in, kissing and touching, carding through the other’s hair, running his fingernails across his scalp, eliciting a breathy moan from the Master. 

His hands slid down to his lower back, squeezing and pushing the Doctor further against the console, with his head resting against it and both their backs arched, so the Master was over him. Leaving his hands at the base of his neck, the Doctor ran his tongue against the Master’s lower lip, and his mouth opened, allowing contact. They lay there, mouths and tongues furiously sliding together, voices cracking with groans, the past seemingly forgotten. Then, with both Time Lords gasping for air, the kiss broke apart and the sound thoughts being gathered was found, then shot down as the Master began pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the Doctor’s throat, leaving him gasping out his name.


	2. Aftermath

He couldn’t feel past his neck.

_Must’ve slept funny._ Blinking gingerly, the Doctor shifted a little, then stopped, hands resting on his arched stomach. Harder than he remembered. _Must be all that running_ , he thought as he felt along the planes of skin. Smooth.

Too smooth. And he could’t feel it on the other side. 

Adrenalin snapping his eyes open, he found blonde hair brushing the hollow of his throat. Experienced in this kind of cold fear, he slowed his hands as his mind raced backward. The weight of him was familiar, his breathing easy. He was all but lying on the Doctor, skin on skin…

Oh, **fuck**.

He couldn’t tell what time it was [A.N. irony folks] but he couldn’t have landed in London more than 12 hours ago. He should get up, he should really get up, but what about him? How in the universe was he supposed to react to this - the Master’s great return?

_Well, you handled that great. What was it, three seconds before you surrendered? Welcomed him home, huh?_ Even that voice sounded like him. Gods, has he gone mad? He wasn’t - this wasn’t - supposed to happen. In in his wildest, most time-tangled dreams, this always ended before it begun. So how had they gotten here, a warm bed, of all places?He was surprised at his next thought - the TARDIS knew. A little shame crept down through his palms, and they stopped their feathery commute up and down the Master’s back.

“Who told said you could stop?” He knew it was inevitable, the Master couldn’t stay unconscious forever. But air escaped him nonetheless. His eyes locked onto the lying form before him, looking for any sign of movement. There, at the lips. Was he…smiling?

“Y-you.” Damn his quivering mouth.

“Mm hm, that’s right baby. Guess who’s back?” The Master was full-blown grinning now, inching himself upright while still straddling the Doctor’s torso. He was leaning against the headboard, hands clasped loosely by the waking man. Even now he couldn’t refuse him. Last night he couldn’t refuse him. The sight of him on top of him was disarming at worst, all grace and filthy charm. Shirtless, he revealed long bruises starting to form along where his ribs lay under his skin. _Surely he hadn’t been holding on that tight?_

He swallowed, gulping down air as he tried to steady his voice, to ask the right questions. “Why? Why are you here? Y-you can’t do things like that. You left. You left me.” The desperation in it didn’t escape him. “I thought I’d give you a taste of your own medicine. How’d you like that, Your Highness?” Lazily, the Master bent his head down and kissed the Doctor’s hands, one at a time. A game they played as kids, aspiring to be High Lords, they always referred to each other with royal titles. The Doctor had enjoyed the novelty, but the Master had loved it. 

What was this? This gentleness, the dilated pupils, the lack of edge to his voice. Surely not. The Master always got what he wanted, but he usually had more finesse, less personal involvement, he used to boast. But this was intimate. This was…sentiment. This had to be some kind of joke, some kind of cruel trap. “I don’t understand.” It was true, he didn’t. But he ventured in anyway. Either way, he’d get an answer. “I didn’t know you wanted this. Me.” The vibrations jostled something in him, aided by the exposure of his neck as the Master threw his head back laughing. “What, you wanted someone else? Please.” His head rolled forward, eyes aligning with his, and he started sucking on his right index finger. The Doctor was fascinated by the feeling. It brought past deja vu from the hours before. “It was always going to be you and me, up on thrones. And honey, you should see me in a crown.”

For the second time, the Doctor gaped as him, thoughts all over the floor. “Would you look at this? The Doctor, speechless, for itty-bitty me? Am I special?” The Master’s month let go, and he ran a hand through the Doctor’s hair, coming to rest on his hearts. “Go on, I want you to say it, Doctor.” The other hand flew to his cheek, fingers a little too tight, a hint of the old Master.

This reassured him somehow - he was still the same person. Manipulative, soft on the inside, and a tad deranged. But he could help him. Heal him. _He was the Doctor after all._

“You’re special.” he said and, for the first time, he reached out to him, a hand weaving into blonde hair. “But where'll we find thrones, huh?” The Master laughed again, a harsher sound. “You clearly aren’t skilled in this, are you? It’s a metaphor - you and me together, you i-idiot.” The intake of breath afterwards surprised the Master, as the taller man leaned forward to kiss the corner of his lips, unfurling somewhat. He lay face-to-face with the Doctor as he ventured with his hands and mouth, the blonde allowing him to wrap an arm around his torso. Four beating hearts pressed together.

The Doctor was enjoying this. Loved it, even. “But what,” he murmured between languid kisses, “about world,” a lick, earning a soft groan, “domination?” “I’ve moved on: I’d prefer to dominate you.” With speed that he anticipated for, the Master whipped them over, resuming his perch on top of the Doctor, hands pinning his at the wrists. The soft flirtation’s over - onto the endgame. “Now, what’d you say about round two?”


End file.
